Repercussions
by safcooper
Summary: Duffy's first date after Andrew's death goes horribly wrong. Can Charlie help her, or will she have to pay for her crime... *Complete*
1. Part One

Disclaimer: I've borrowed these characters, I do not own them. Well I made a few of them up but the Beeb can have them too if they want, but the story is mine.

Repercussions

Part One

"You look happy today".

Duffy raised an eyebrow at Charlie's observation but continued to brush her hair at the small mirror inside her locker door.

"You have a problem with that?"

"Of course not. It's just nice to see you smiling".

She finished with her hair and shoved her brush into her large handbag, "So what you're saying is I usually wander around with a face like a slapped arse?"

"_Well_..."

"Charlie Fairhead, if I wasn't in such a good mood I'd hit you!"

"Hey!" Charlie raised his hands in self-defence "You said it, I said nothing of the sort. I'm much too much of a gentleman".

"It was the tone of your 'well' that worried me. Anyway, forget that, how do I look?"

Duffy smoothed down the front of her newly acquired little black dress and fiddled with the diamond solitaire necklace that she'd unearthed from her 'things I never wear' drawer that morning. From his seat on the staff room sofa he gave her a long look up and down, grateful that he'd been given permission to do so, and no longer had to pretend to be reading last night's football write up. He couldn't remember the last time she'd looked so stunning, but in the year or so since Andrew's death she'd regained her lost confidence and started blooming. He'd found that his gaze was increasingly drawn to her as she strutted around the A&E department.

"Not bad, I suppose. Quiet night in, is it?"

"Cheers Charlie," she replied sarcastically, slipping on her coat and closing her locker.

"Seriously, you look... good. So who is he?"

"What makes you think there's a 'he' involved?"

"Fair point, it's the twenty first century, could be a woman..." he teased.

"His name is Philip Brockly. You don't know him, and it's not serious anyway; just a drink together."

"A-ha. Well, be careful and remember you've got work tomorrow".

Duffy rolled her eyes at him, her mouth falling open in dismay, "Yes dad".

"Sor-ry! I'm just concerned".

"About me or the department?"

"The department", he lied with a broad smile. "Go on then, or the mysterious Philip'll think you've stood him up".

"Yeah. You sure this dress isn't too tarty?" The spaghetti strapped dress certainly showed off every curve and fell to a couple of inches above her knee, but among the list of adjectives that fluttered through his mind tarty wasn't one of them.

"It looks gorgeous".

Duffy beamed and did up her coat buttons. "See you tomorrow then!" She took a few steps forward and kissed him gently on the forehead before striding purposefully out of the door. 

Charlie leant back into the sofa and lifted his legs onto the low table; a habit Duffy was forever telling him off about. His own shift over as well, he knew he should take the chance of the empty room to get changed before heading off home. He closed his eyes instead though, and allowed himself a moment of imagining that Duffy had been getting dressed up for him, not some random bloke she'd pulled god knows where.

He opened his eyes, made his way to the sink, and poured himself some water. It didn't do anyone any good to be having thoughts like that and if he didn't stop himself now he'd need a cold shower never mind a cold glass of water.

He wondered about her date, about what sort of man she'd chosen for her first night out since being widowed. He was probably younger than Charlie, all her boyfriends so far had been, and was no doubt also in some flash job, with a smart suit and a charming smile. Charlie took another slurp of the water and told himself he had no right to be jealous. He and Duffy were, as always, just good friends. He'd do anything for her, including trying to sound positive about her love life when his own was on standby until he worked out how to banish her from his thoughts.

~*~

Not for the first time in the evening Duffy's attention wandered and she found herself watching the various happy couples in the restaurant enjoy their meals. Her drink with Philip had turned into a meal before she knew where she was. However, the charming man she'd started the evening with had swiftly turned into a self-obsessed wanker and she wished she had some means of escape.

As he droned on about his work, doing something Duffy didn't understand in some office somewhere that Duffy had never heard of, she took a hefty gulp of the expensive red wine and tried to feign some interest in what he was saying. He'd already dismissed her own job as 'a good career for a woman', a comment that nearly made her choke on her appetiser. She had almost walked out on him there and then, but she hadn't because it would mean admitting that the whole idea of trying to date again was really as stupid as she'd feared. Besides, one comment does not a male chauvinist pig make. Three dozen of them do though, and she wished she'd gone when she'd had the chance.

Still, they'd soon be finished eating, and the minute he suggested dessert she'd make her excuses; surely an enlightened man like him would appreciate the need for the little woman to go running home and do the washing up. She downed the remainder of the glass, and pinched the stem between her fingers as if it were a voodoo doll; wishing he'd shut up for long enough to shovel the last few forkfuls of food into his gaping mouth.

"You're knocking it back a bit tonight love," he said, calling her from her bored stupor.

"Pardon!?"

"Hey, I don't mean anything by it, it's just that you've drunk twice as much as me tonight. I guess it's one of those work hard, play hard things, yeah?"

"Not exactly," Duffy replied trying to retain her calm and therefore her dignity. "But I think you're right. I've had enough. Thanks for the meal, but I should get going now". She slid her chair back over the polished floorboards and stood up before he had a chance to say anything.

"But we aren't finished".

"I am actually. I have been for the last fifteen minutes". She really wanted to throw a handful of notes onto the table and storm off, safe in the knowledge that she hadn't accepted anything from him, but she knew that she only had enough cash to afford her taxi home. The thought of being back in the sanctuary of her own home called invitingly to her, even if it would be empty because all three of her children had been bundled off to her mother's place.

Philip stood up and looked at her as though she'd just admitted to being the tooth fairy, as the Maitre d' strode over to them appearing slightly flustered at the thought of their unscheduled departure.

"I'd like my coat please," Duffy asked.

"Certainly. Sir, would you like the bill?"

"Yeah whatever", Philip wafted a disinterested arm at the man, who promptly scurried off. "I suppose if you aren't enjoying yourself we should leave".

The word 'we' reverberated in her head. She had no intention of leaving with him whatsoever. Where the hell was that man with her coat?

"I'll be fine on my own thank you." She turned on her heel and headed to the door, deciding as she went that she'd rather leave her coat behind than spend another minute in Philip's company. As it happened the Maitre d' reappeared just as she reached the exit and she snatched her coat off him and stepped into the cold night air.

The usually busy street seemed frighteningly quiet as she yanked her coat over dress and stamped her heeled feet on the pavement, partly to keep warm, partly in frustration; there wasn't anything even remotely resembling a cab to be seen. She pointed herself in the direction of a bus stop, and sat on its uncomfortable sloping seat, sending up ever more abusive prayers that she wouldn't have long to wait.

She stuck her hand into her overstuffed handbag and tried to disentangle her mobile phone from the multitude of junk she carried around in case of emergency. When she heard an engine approaching, she glanced up hopefully.

Better than a bus, a maroon taxicab was coming up the road. She sprang to her feet, dropping her bag and sending a tampon, half a packet of Polo's and baby's dummy flying across the paving slabs. "Shit!" She grabbed at the bag and stuck her arm out to hail the cab, wrenching open the door the split second it had stopped. Jumping into the back, she told the driver her address and was just about to pull the door shut when Philip reappeared, and got in beside her.

"I thought you drove here," she said icily.

"Yeah, well I'll pick it up in the morning. It's only a company car".

Duffy could feel the hairs on the back of her neck standing to attention. Philip was blocking the door and, as she dithered about what to do next, he slammed it shut. She made a lunge for the other side's door, but Philip's strong hand grabbed at her wrist.

"What are you doing?" he asked, as though the thought she wouldn't want to ride with him hadn't entered his mind. 

"If you want this cab, I'll get the next", she answered feebly.

"Don't be daft, we can share". She sank back into the seat. At least they weren't alone together, although the driver seemed to by making a concerted effort to ignore them. Philip tapped on the Perspex screen and the driver obediently turned.

"You know Morley right? Just outside of the ring road."

The driver nodded, "I thought you wanted Woodfields darling?" He stretched round to look at Duffy.

She tried to swallow her panic. She didn't want Philip knowing where she lived, but if she went with him to his place she'd be miles from anywhere.

"Yeah. Woodfields, it'd be easier to drop me off there first, wouldn't it?" The driver shrugged and pulled back into the road. Duffy turned to Philip. "You don't mind dropping me off first do you?" she said trying to stress that it wasn't any form of invitation.

"Nah. I'd love to see where you live". He rested his hand on her knee, she shivered; it was cold and felt clammy. She brushed it off and squirmed away to the corner of the cab. It didn't deter him and as he moved closer, she realised she'd just trapped herself.

It took far too long to reach her street, but when they did she yanked her purse from her bag paying the full fare before stumbling out into the quiet residential street; the wine and her high heeled shoes conspiring against her. Philip got out and put a thick arm around her to steady her. She struggled against him but he was strong and she wasn't as co-ordinated as she could have been.

"I'd better look after her" he said to the driver, who responded with a concerned look at the rough way he was holding Duffy. Philip dipped in his pocket with his free hand and pulled out a crisp reddish note, whispering so Duffy couldn't hear, "For your trouble". The driver took the money and drove away.

"Bastard!!!!" Duffy yelled at the top of her voice at the retreating vehicle. Why couldn't he see the way she was being manhandled? She should have said something, she shouldn't have let things get this far.

Her mind was dizzily replaying events as Philip clamped his hand over her mouth. "Don't want to wake the neighbours now do you".

Philip hauled Duffy to her front door, then still holding her around the head he fished in her handbag for her keys and let them in; as she flailed about ineffectually, trying to fight him off. Once inside with the door shut behind them he wrestled her coat off her and pinned her to the wall, his hands like vices around the tops of her bare arms.

He pushed his face into hers, trying to force her to open her mouth with his tongue. She kicked wildly at his shin until she wrestled free enough to hit the mother load. Her knee made contact with his groin with all the force she could muster and he staggered backwards clutching himself and gasping for breath.

Pushing past him, she fumbled with the locks on the inside of the door. An image of Andrew proudly unveiling his new security locks fluttering across her eyes. Her sweating fingers couldn't grasp the catches and she beat her fist against the glass panel and shouted in an effort to get some attention from the deserted street.

Behind her she could hear Philip trying to pull himself off the floor, and giving up with the front decided that the back door might be a better option. She only made it as far as the living room before Philip caught her from behind, yanking her hair and stopping her in her tracks.

"You fucking bitch! What the fuck did you do that for?!"

He whirled her around and pressed her down onto the long low coffee table, her back making contact with the cluttered surface with a thud. She let out a piercing scream, momentarily stunning her assailant, and his grip loosening enough for her to reach behind her. Her fingertips scratched across the floor and encountered something hard. She grabbed hold and heaved her arm up, and then down across his head.

There was a sickening crunch as contact was made, the shock of which made her drop her makeshift weapon, and in one frantic terrified movement she pushed his limp body off hers, and onto the floor. It was only as she scrambled awkwardly to her feet that she saw the damage she had done.

Philip lay perfectly still, blood soaking through his slicked back blonde hair and dripping onto the carpet.

Trembling from head to toe she grabbed the first thing that came to hand, an old tea towel, and pressed it against the wound. It turned red beneath her fingers.

Too much blood, far too much blood.

She backed away from the body, unable to take her eyes off it, automatically wiping her bloodied hands down her dress to clean them. Her blood ran cold through her veins as she launched herself out of the room, grabbed instinctively at her bag, clawed her way out of the front door, and vomited in the flower bed.

End of Part One


	2. Part Two

Repercussions

Part Two

How she got into her car, let alone drove it without causing a serious accident, will forever be a mystery, but somehow she lurched her small hatchback through the dark streets in the direction of the only person she could think of to turn to. She mounted the kerb in front of his house, narrowly missing a lamppost and was soon on his doorstep pounding at the wood with both fists and screaming his name like a banshee.

Hearing the commotion, Charlie heaved himself off his sofa and went to open the door, not knowing what he'd find. As soon as the door was open, Duffy pushed her way inside, shutting the door behind her and steeling her back against it as though she was expecting something to burst through behind her.

Charlie stood bewildered in front of her. Her dress was torn, one strap hanging uselessly down her front, her tights were laddered, her hair was tangled and along with the black pools of mascara on her face were marks that looked a lot like blood.

"Jesus Duffy, what the hell is going on?"

She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out. She opened and closed it a few more times, panting for breath and shaking all over. He took a step towards her and it was all the encouragement she needed to jump into his arms and bury her head in the crook of his neck. He held on to her as tightly as he dared as she fought with herself to get her breathing back under control.

Eventually she composed herself enough to stutter in his ear "I killed him Charlie. I killed him!"

"What?"

"I didn't mean too" she whined pathetically, as yet more tears rolled down her face.

He didn't understand and he certainly didn't believe her, yet she looked more panicked than he'd ever seen her, or anyone else for that matter. He made quiet shushing noises as he stroked her hair and manoeuvred her into the living room. She sank into the sofa and huddled herself into such a small, protected ball than she practically disappeared. Charlie flicked off the television and knelt on the carpet in front of her.

Now he had her in better light he saw the deep purple bruises that were beginning to show up on her arms and neck. She refused to look at him, and he tried to get her attention by gently lifting her hands off her lap and holding them. He felt the sticky residue of the blood before he noticed the staining.

"Shit! You're bleeding. Where?" She shook her head at him, but all her energy was spent and there was no force behind the movement. "Duffy! Where are you hurt? I have to call an ambulance!"

"No!" She shrieked, finding her voice at last, "No ambulance. Promise me Charlie. No ambulance: they'll call the police!" She looked deep into his eyes, pleading with him.

"Duffy what happened?"

"I told you," she whined, "I killed him!" She looked down at her filthy red hands, and stretched them away from her as if she didn't want to be associated them.

"Who? I don't understand. Duffy you aren't making sense..."

"Philip. He was... he was trying to... he wouldn't stop... I hit him... he's dead".

Charlie tried to make sense of her garbled explanation, the bloodstains, and the wild fear in her eyes, not liking the conclusion he came to.

"No Duffy, no. No" He shrank back away from her instinctively.

"I didn't mean it," she whispered again before dissolving into tears "What am I going to do?"

"Call the police. I'll call them. It'll be fine. You didn't mean it, so it'll be fine".

"You can't. No please, they'll take my kids away, I'll go to prison..." She rasped the words, her throat sore from screaming and crying.

"It was self defence yeah?"

"Yeah. But what if they don't believe me?"

"Why wouldn't they believe you?"

"I don't know. There were no witnesses, it'd be my word. Oh god this isn't happening, this can't be happening!"

Charlie scrambled off the floor and sat on the arm of the sofa, pulling her still trembling body toward him. He let out a ragged breath, fighting with his conscience. He had to call the police, didn't he? But then he only had Duffy's word that a crime had even been committed. It wasn't his problem.

He glanced down at Duffy. Bollocks it wasn't his problem, she'd made it his problem. He had to help her, she needed him and that's all there was to it.

"Duffy listen to me. You listening?" He felt her nod softly into his chest. "Right. This is what we'll do..."

~*~

It took almost two more hours before Duffy was in any fit state to be left on her own, but after Charlie had done his best to calm her down, taken her up to his bathroom and run her a hot bath, he had realised that he'd have to go and investigate the scene of the crime; her house.

She had pleaded with him not to go, but eventually had conceded to Charlie's line of argument, something had to be done. It wouldn't go away all by itself.

He took her door keys from her bag and drove back through the quiet midnight streets, his brain screaming that she must have been mistaken, but the hideous sick feeling rising from the pit of his stomach telling him different.

Through her sobs and whines, Charlie had managed to extract the majority of the story from her; and it boiled down to a few simple facts. One, this Philip person had tried to rape her in her own home, and two, she'd struck out in self-defence. However a third fact lurked in his subconscious; when there's an accident, you call an ambulance, and/or the police. Duffy hadn't done that and coupled with the fact that she's a trained, experienced nurse and yet made no effort to save him meant that there was a chance of some form of prosecution against her.

He parked the car and bounded up the steps to her house, unlocking the door and steeling him self against whatever it was he was going to see as he entered the building. The living room she'd said, so that's where he went, casting a wary eye across the abandoned room. It was a mess, that much was for sure, but no body.

Feeling a little braver, he conducted a more in depth search of the room. A suspicious bloodstain lay by the coffee table, a solid wooden carving of an elephant was discarded a foot away, as was a scarlet soaked rag. Clear signs of the struggle were all over the room, but still no body.

Relief hit him like a thunderous wave, and Charlie dropped to his knees, his head drooping down to touch a clear area of carpet. Sighing a deep sigh, he felt the bile rise in his throat and fought with himself not to give in to the temptation to be sick.

No body meant no murder. Corpses don't have the luxury of upping and finding a more convenient place to be discovered. She couldn't have hit him as hard as she thought she had, and after she'd left he must have got up and walked off of his own accord.

He dragged himself to his feet, angry that he'd allowed himself to believe that Duffy, his best friend, and the nicest person he'd ever met, could possibly have committed murder. Of course she hadn't, it was ridiculous, preposterous, comical. He let out a bitter laugh, rubbing his head in an effort to stop it from exploding with raw emotion.

The bloodstain on the floor was still staring up at him, taunting him, forcing him to remember that whilst no murder had been committed, an act of violence had been. It providing him with a hundred more 'what ifs' that he didn't want to contemplate. He found himself walking to the kitchen and pulling every cleaning material he could find from under the sink, then he set about removing any trace that Philip had ever been in Duffy's house.

~*~

Charlie's drive back to his own house afforded him a moment to relax. The cleaning went as well as he'd expected, although he'd dragged a rug in from the study just in case. The blood-soaked tea towel and the wooden weapon had been disposed of under a pile of rotting floorboards in a skip he'd passed and all he had to do now was tell Duffy the good news.

As he entered his house, he shouted to her that he was back, realising only after that it was two in the morning and hoping that he wouldn't have woken her. He checked each room in turn, until coming to the bathroom and finding the door locked from the inside.

"Duffy? Duffy, it's all right love. It's OK, you didn't kill anyone...Duffy? You in there?"

He heard the sound of the bolt being drawn back and the door slowly opened, to reveal Duffy wrapped in Charlie's old towelling robe, her hair borderline damp, and massive red rings around her eyes.

"You've been gone ages! I thought they'd arrested you. I've been so scared. You said you wouldn't be long!" Yet more tears slid down her cheeks making them shine. She looked like she wanted to throw a tantrum but just didn't have the strength.

Charlie reached for her, pulling her into a hug as he explained what he had, or rather hadn't, found. He could feel her fingers digging into the skin of his back, but the frantic gasps for breath in between sobs softened as his words sunk in.

When she was calm enough to speak, she asked the exact same question that Charlie had tried very hard indeed not to ask, "So where is he then?"

"It doesn't matter," Charlie replied sounding a good deal more positive than he felt, "He won't dare come after you again, and no one else'll ever be able to trace his injury back to you - to _us_".

"Us?" Duffy reiterated, "Charlie you didn't hit him, I did".

"Maybe, but I don't want you to think that you're in this on your own" He hoped that didn't sound too soppy because it was important that she understood he'd stand by her.

She managed a small smile as she pulled out of his embrace and held his hands in hers, and Charlie noticed for the first time how cold she felt.

"Come with me" he guided her to his bedroom, letting go of her hands for just long enough to give the room a hasty tidy up. "Here, you're freezing and I'll bet you're tired too, so you can sleep in my bed and I'll stay downstairs on the couch".

Duffy wanted to protest, but the king size double bed looked so inviting, and he was right, she wasn't only tired she was thoroughly exhausted. She let him fold back the thick grey-striped duvet and sat on the sheet underneath.

"Are you sure you don't mind?"

"Mind? I insist!" She pulled her bare feet up beside her. "If there's anything you want just call OK?"

"OK".

He made his way to the door and flicked of the light switch so that the room was only illuminated by the light from the landing, "Goodnight Duffy".

He was about to close the door when he heard her say something in a soft, sad voice, "What's wrong with me Charlie? Why is it that nothing ever goes right for me? I feel like I'm being continually shat on from a great height. What did I do to deserve all this?"

Charlie listened, stunned, still in the darkened doorway to the room. He'd never really thought about it before but even the most cursory look back over her life revealed a string of personal disasters. He always thought of her as the sort of person who bounced back, the sort of person who dealt with her problems as they arose, then got on with it. Not like him and his patented 'stick your head in the sand until you have a nervous breakdown' method. Now he started to wonder if there was a point when even the strongest of people can't take anymore. 

He wished he could see her face; he thought he could hear the telltale tremble in her voice that signified she was crying, but something stopped him from turning the light back on. There was something about the darkness that made honesty easier.

"You don't deserve it" he whispered in response, "No one does, but especially not you".

"Once upon a time I believed that. It was all case of bad luck; _could_ happen to anyone, but _did_ happen to me. Maybe that's not it at all though. Maybe it's me. I'm a walking catastrophe, and a bad luck charm to anyone stupid enough to come near me".

"I don't think you're a catastrophe or a bad luck charm, and I'd say I'm closer to you than most. You're anything but; you're my best friend, I care about you and I don't think that makes me stupid".

"Really?"

"Absolutely. Now try to get some sleep".

"Charlie…" 

"Yes?"

There was more she wanted to say; she wanted to tell him how much his actions that night had meant to her, but even in the half-light of the room she could see Charlie struggling against a yawn. Although she knew she wouldn't be able to sleep, she owed him the opportunity to do so. She lay back onto the bed and snuggled into the duvet as she said "Goodnight". 

End of Part Two


	3. Part Three

Repercussions

Part Three

Charlie hadn't slept. Every time he closed his eyes one word flashed into his mind: accomplice. Just the one word, but it echoed around Charlie's head as he lay on his lumpy sofa. Accomplice to what, he wasn't completely sure of, but he was absolutely certain that covering up a crime, let alone committing one, was illegal and would probably carry a heavy penalty if they were caught. It wasn't a good feeling, and the part of him who had been brought up to obey the laws of the land kept raising the suggestion of heading straight down to the Police station to confess his part in the crime.

He hadn't though, he wasn't going to, and there was only one reason why not. Whatever he'd done was nothing in comparison to what Duffy had done and he couldn't bring himself to drop her in it. She had much more to lose than he did, and regardless of his moral obligations to the law, his conscience forbade him from ruining her life.

The events of the last few hours continued to whirl around in his mind. He fought to get some sleep, but he dropped into a fitful slumber only to be awoken, what felt like seconds later, by the smell of something burning. Jumping off the uncomfortable sofa, he staggered, barely awake, to the kitchen to investigate. 

Looking none the better for her sleep, Duffy sat at his cluttered table as behind her smoke rose ominously from the toaster. With her head in her hands and a deeply troubled expression, it was clear that she hadn't even noticed the burning bread. Charlie rushed past her, pulled the plug from the wall, and tipped the smoking machine upside down, shaking it violently. Two small, smouldering, black squares dropped onto the sideboard. 

He turned back to the table and flopped exhaustedly into the chair next to her, "I didn't hear you get up". 

"I didn't want to wake you. No point in both of us going without sleep," she replied without looking at him.

"You didn't get much kip either then, eh?" The moment he'd said it he realised what a completely stupid comment it was. He could imagine the nightmares that he'd endured in his short sleep were as nothing compared to any she might have had.

She finally turned to look him in the eyes, and responded dryly "Not really".

"Look, I'm sure we can cope without you at work today. If you want to stay here, get some rest or something?" 

Duffy's instinctive reaction was to shake her head until her face was almost entirely obscured by tangles of hair. The last thing she needed was more time to dwell on what had happened. "No, I'll work. I'll be OK".

Charlie glanced nervously at her charcoaled breakfast. If she couldn't be relied on to make toast, he couldn't let her run a hospital department; the risks were too high. Anyway, what if she accidentally said something that incriminated her?

"Duffy I really don't think it's a good idea…" he carefully brushed her hair back behind her ears, and revealed two very watery eyes.

She didn't argue with him. Much as she needed a distraction, facing the crowds of people in the emergency department, not to mention putting on a brave face in front of her colleagues, wasn't very appealing.

"Can I stay here then? I can't go back _there_. Not yet anyway. Please?"

"Of course" He smiled reassuringly at her. "What about the kids though?"

"Mum'll hold on to them, I'll tell her I'm sick or something, she's still completely paranoid about Paul getting ill, him being premature and everything."

"Right. Good. I'll tell them the same at work then…". He chewed his bottom lip, trying to think of a suitably convincing ailment, becoming so lost in thought that it took him by surprise when he felt her hand on his arm. He looked up at her, and asked softly "What?"

"I'm sorry for dragging you into this. For making you lie for me".

"It's OK Duffy. I'm just glad that you felt you could come to me". She smiled in response, except it didn't quite reach her eyes; leant over, and kissed him.

~*~

As the front door slammed downstairs, Duffy crawled back under the covers of Charlie's bed, pulling a pillow across her face to block out the daylight that crept through the bedroom curtains. She wanted to cry, but her eyes were already so sore that she didn't think she would be able to. Instead, she howled into the fabric of the pillowcase, a long low howl that made her bottom lip curl.

As if things weren't bad enough already, she had to go and make them worse still by kissing Charlie. He'd been so good to her, better than she'd deserved under the circumstances. If someone had turned up on her doorstep in hysterics, screaming about how they'd killed someone, she couldn't imagine that she'd be so calm and caring about it. He would have been perfectly justified in slamming the door in her face and phoning 999; of course she'd taken it for granted that he wouldn't do that and now she'd dragged him into her mess.

She'd been so grateful, and the only way she could think to show him that was to kiss him. The look of utter shock on his face as he'd pulled away from her showed that it was an entirely inappropriate thing to do. He couldn't get away fast enough; and who could blame him? Who'd want to kiss a woman whom eight hours ago had been covered in another man's blood after nearly killing him. He was probably only helping her out of a sense of obligation.

Lying in her self created darkness it suddenly occurred to her that Charlie might think she grabbed and snogged any old bloke who came along. Perhaps he thought that she'd led Philip on, that she deserved everything that he tried to do to her. Perhaps that's why he beat such a hasty retreat, he couldn't bear to be in the same building as a slut like her.

The pain that wracked through her body at the thought of losing her friendship with Charlie was worse even than the pain from the bruises that covered it. She knew that she could never have coped over the last year without him, come to think of it there were plenty of other instances in the past she wouldn't have coped half so well with without him. She needed him, she cared about him, and, in one amazing moment of self-understanding, she realised that she loved him. However, she'd had to nearly kill someone before she'd worked it out.

She grabbed at the pillow and hurled it with all her might at the opposite wall. It fell short and she laughed a bitter laugh; she couldn't even do that right.

~*~

Charlie strode briskly through the main doors of the hospital and headed straight for the sanctuary of his office, convinced that the turmoil he was in was written right across his face. With the door safely shut behind him, he set about closing each of the blinds until he was completely cut off from the rest of the department. Then for good measure he also took the telephone off the hook and pushed his desk chair up against the door before sitting on it.

He let out a long sigh as he tried to gather himself together and his gaze drifted to a photograph on the shelf. It was one of him shaking hands with the Lord Mayor of Holby at the official opening of the new resuscitation room. Shaking hands with the Mayor; what a fine upstanding citizen you are, his conscience mocked. He moved to the picture and picked it up, with every intention of locking it in a draw for the foreseeable future. He stopped though, mid motion, remembering the first time he'd seen that picture all framed up and on his desk. It was when he returned to work after his PE, over two years ago. Duffy had told him she rather liked it there. So there it had stayed. Never to be mentioned again.

Rather like their relationship in general. He was sure that he wasn't the only one to wonder where it might have led them, given the chance, but neither of them had said anything, neither had dared to disrupt the status quo. His free hand made its way to his lips as he recalled the kiss they'd just shared. It wasn't what he'd call passionate, but it was a lot deeper than pure friendship. Under different circumstances he'd have been delighted by this change of gear, but at the moment he had too much on his mind.

He looked down at the phone, which had started to wail plaintively that it was off its receiver, and debated whether he should call home and make sure she was still all right. If truth be known he hadn't really wanted to leave her, but he knew they couldn't both call in sick and after the rather unexpected kiss he'd been so flustered that he'd just left.

He placed the picture back in its regular spot on the shelf and sat back on his chair, trying to concentrate on the workday ahead.

~*~

Charlie looked down at his watch. Less than an hour to go before his shift ended and for once the department was practically empty. He'd kept himself occupied for the duration of the shift mostly by hiding under the mountain of paperwork that had accumulated on his desk, but occasionally rushing to resusc for an emergency. The latter not only gave him something to concentrate on but also gave him a chance to check whether any of the unconscious patients might have a suspicious head wound. Thankfully none did. He couldn't say that allayed any of his fears though. 

He began to wonder whether he could skip off early and get back to Duffy. He hadn't heard a word from her all day, which worried him, but then he had also decided against calling her for fear of what she might say. He glanced back at his watch, surely no one would miss him for an hour…

Just as Charlie had made up his mind that as the boss he was entitled to bend the rules a little, there was a polite knock on his office door before it opened to reveal Colette.

"I'm just off now Charlie, all right?"

"Off? Off where? The shift's not over". He blustered, realising that he really would have to stay if she went.

She frowned at him and clasped her hands across her stomach. "Upstairs for my ultrasound scan. I'm already slightly behind schedule and Josh is buzzing around in a panic that we're going to miss this one's first photo shoot!"

"That's today?" Charlie winced and rubbed the back of his head as he spoke.

"Yep. I told you ages ago," she replied as Josh entered the room behind her and wrapped his arms around his wife's waist.

"You better not even be thinking about saying she can't go…" Josh warned, only half jokingly; he'd been waiting too long for this first glimpse of Griffiths junior as it was.

"Hey, even I know there are some things more important than the job".

"I'm sorry about leaving you in the lurch like this Charlie," Colette apologised, "but if you want someone to blame, blame Duffy".

"Yeah, she's the one pulling a sickie. All sounds a bit fishy to me!" 

Charlie felt his heart start to pump faster, "What do you mean _fishy_?"

"I think what my darling husband is trying to say…" Colette elbowed Josh in the ribs and he reacted by mouthing 'what?' at her, "…is that she told us she had a date planned for last night. It just seems a bit of a coincidence that she should then be off today. That's all. Something the matter Charlie?"

He swallowed the lump of irrational panic that had risen to his throat and cursed his paranoia. "Duffy's ill, and I don't think idle gossip like that will help her get better".

Josh and Colette exchanged glances at Charlie's odd tone of voice, then apologised like a pair of naughty school children. "Look if she's that ill, maybe Colette and I should drop by her place on our way home; see if there's anything that she needs?" 

"No!" Charlie cried out, startling them, "I mean, she could probably just do with some peace and quiet. Best just to leave her, I reckon".

"If you say so. Well we had better be making tracks, right love?" Colette nodded.

"Night Charlie".

"Yeah goodnight. And good luck" As they left his office Charlie swivelled around in his chair and tapped his forehead against his desk a few times, reliving the conversation in his mind. They must have thought he was mad, and he'd noticed that a few of the other staff had been giving him funny looks on the rare occasions he'd left his office that day. This lying business wasn't half hard work.

~*~

Duffy put a new CD in the player and the room filled with the sound of gentle jazz music. Since finally crawling out from the safety of the bedcovers at around two in the afternoon when her stomach had demanded food, she had decided to make the best of a terrible situation. As yet, that had meant cleaning herself up, getting lunch and rooting through Charlie's record collection. Not terribly productive, but better than lying around feeling sorry for herself, and it had even calmed herself down enough to deal with Charlie's homecoming.

She was humming along to the tune when she heard Charlie's key in the lock. She gave the room a cursory glance to see if she'd been a good guest, and, deciding that it looked no worse than when she'd arrived, forced a smile to her lips, and waited for him to enter the room. 

"Evening Charlie" she said tentatively, trying to gauge his mood.

"Evening". He sighed in return, raising his eyebrow at her new attire, all acquired from his wardrobe if he wasn't mistaken.

Realising what was going through his mind, her expression clouded into worry. "I should have asked I know, but I hoped you wouldn't mind." She cursed herself for taking his feelings for granted again and added as an explanation "I was cold".

"I don't mind Duffy. They're only clothes, it doesn't matter". He walked past her and settled, exhausted, on the sofa.

"Are you OK?" she said, sitting next to him.

"Not really, I'm knackered. It's been one of those days". 

She looked at his drawn, pale face and almost felt her heart break. The last time she'd seen him look so terrible had been when he'd ended up in counselling for depression. Duffy had always felt proud of herself that she'd been the main force in getting him to agree to see a counsellor and get himself well again. She hated the thought that her actions could lead him back to that dark place once more.

"I'm sorry" she whispered.

He looked at the worry and the pain in her eyes and berated himself for giving in to a moment of self-indulgent moaning. He was supposed to be being strong for her, not the other way around.

"It's not your fault".

A stifling silence descended, broken only by the sound of a lilting saxophone; making the physical gap between them seem like an impassable chasm. Each wanted nothing more than to hold the other, tell them that whatever happened they still cared about them, but their minds were too busy with the belief that the other wouldn't want that.

Eventually Duffy broke the silence. "Are you hungry? I could make us dinner if you want?"

Charlie, glad of the change of conversation as much as anything, summoned up a smile, "After the mess you made of breakfast?" She blushed with embarrassment. "I could drive up to a take-away, maybe swing by yours and pick up some clothes and stuff".

Duffy looked over at him in surprise. "Pick up some stuff? You think I should stay here?" she worded her question very carefully to try to disguise her hope that the answer would be yes. Not only did she not particularly want to spend a night alone in her house, but also she rather liked the idea of spending more time with Charlie.

"Well, I, er, I thought you didn't want to go home yet. I mean if you'd prefer to be back at your place, that's perfectly fine by me but you're welcome to spend as long as you like here," he replied earnestly. 

"Thanks" she smiled, "I'll come with you though to pick up some stuff. I can't really avoid my house forever, can I?"

~*~

Charlie had pointed out that their food would get cold if they went to the take away first, so as they drove to Duffy's house they got drawn into a genial argument about what to eat, and where from.

"You can ring up for a pizza, if we're going to pick something up we might as well get something that can't be delivered," Duffy suggested over the quiet chattering of the car radio.

"But I like pizza…"

"So do I. I'm just saying that we could get something a bit more imaginative".

"Like what?"

"Well, I don't know. What sort of thing do you want?"

"Pizza".

"Charlie! Let me guess, deep pan 'meat feast' with extra cheese, am I right? Or…"

"Shush!" interrupted Charlie.

"I'm just saying…"

"Duffy shut up!"

"Excuse me!?"

Charlie beat his left hand frantically in the air, before turning up the radio. "Listen…" 

"_…Police have as yet refused to divulge details of Brockly's death, but a spokesperson for the Holby Constabulary has admitted that they are treating it as suspicious. It's nine 'o' clock and you're listening to the news round up on BBC Radio Holby. The main headlines again: Transport minister admits that the rail network is a shambles, England striker in positive drugs test scandal, and local businessman Philip Brockly was found dead this morning_…"

End of Part Three


	4. Part Four

Repercussions

Part Four

Fifty minutes had passed since Charlie and Duffy had heard the radio broadcast that confirmed their worst fears, and the majority of it had been spent in silence. At Duffy's insistence, they'd turned back to Charlie's place without retrieving any clothes or getting any food. She had convinced herself that the police would be watching her house, and although Charlie had told her that stakeouts like that were purely found in fiction he hadn't been quite sure enough to risk it.

Now they sat opposite each other at the kitchen table; Charlie looking down at the wood grain with his head propped up in his hands, Duffy chewing her thumb nail, too worried even to cry. Their private musings were interrupted by a knock at the door, and Duffy stared at Charlie saucer-eyed with fear.

"It'll be the pizza delivery Duffy. Don't worry". He got up and headed to the door pulling a couple of notes from his wallet as he went. 

"Don't worry!" Duffy scoffed as he vanished from sight. "How can I not worry?"

A minute later he reappeared, carrying a large flat box which he opened and deposited on the table. However hungry they were, their appetites were non existent. Charlie took a mouthful before giving up, Duffy only managed to pick up a stray piece of pepperoni and pop it in her mouth.

"Good thing pizza's edible cold, isn't it?" Charlie said as he flipped the lid back over.

"Hmmm". Duffy replied distractedly, not even bothering trying to hide what was on her mind, "Charlie, what am I going to do?"

"Nothing. Like I said before, there's no evidence. Not even Philip can say anything to incriminate you now". 

"Oh well that's alright then!"

"Duffy…" He said soothingly, trying to placate her fears.

"No Charlie, don't give me that 'calm down you're overreacting' crap. I'm not overreacting. Last night I murdered someone; maybe _that_ was overreacting, but now I'm perfectly calm. See?" She held out her slightly quivering hand flat in front of him, "Steady as a rock. The problem is working out what the hell I'm supposed to do now".

"Last night that sick bastard tried to rape you. Believe me, I would have done worse to him".

"Oh, so that should be my defence then should it? 'The prosecution calls Lisa Duffin to the stand', 'Ms Duffin what have you got to say for yourself?', 'Well, my friend would have done worse'! I don't think it'll work Charlie!"

He frowned "That's not what I meant. Anyway, it'll never get that far".

"You heard what the radio said. The police are treating it as suspicious. There'll be an investigation, someone will say I was with him yesterday evening. The police aren't stupid, they'll put two and two together and I'll end up in jail, the boys will be in care, it'll ruin all of our lives…"

"Duffy please calm down…"

"Charlie I am guilty of murder!" she shouted, making him flinch, "The police might not have any evidence yet, but they will sooner or later and they'll come and get me!"

"They'll have to get past me first," he stated with cartoon like bravado. Failing to understand that while the sentiment was honourable it sounded positively ridiculous. 

"What?" she spat.

"I-I-I'll give you an alibi. Tell them you were with me all evening…" he suggested.

"Charlie it'll be your word against, what, the staff at the restaurant, the cab driver who drove us home, half a dozen other people..? If you start making up stories you'll only get yourself in trouble too".

"Duffy I concealed a crime, disposed of evidence, harboured a criminal… I'm an accomplice after the fact. I _am_ in trouble. We both are and we have to stay calm and stick together".

Duffy's shoulders sagged as she listened to him. She had realised, of course, that she'd asked Charlie to lie for her but it had never really occurred to her that she was asking him to commit actual crimes. Crimes that could land him in a lot of trouble.

"I didn't think of that," she said softly. "Oh God, what a fucking mess!" Her head fell onto the table, leaving her hair to splay out around her, and her shoulders trembled with her sobs.

Charlie got up from his seat and squatted on the floor next to her. "Duffy don't cry. I'll sort this out, I'll think of something".

It took a second for his words to penetrate her confused mind, but when they did she sat back bolt upright in her chair, scraped it backwards across the tiled floor and stood up.

"No Charlie. It's my problem, you've already done too much." She started moving to the door, and Charlie instinctively straightened up and followed her. "Don't. Charlie, please stay away from me; I'll just ruin your life too!"

The force of her order made him stop in his tracks and he called after her, "Where are you going?!"

"To hand myself in. End this. I'll keep your name out of it, I promise. You aren't to blame, I am" She swiped her tears away with her sleeve. Charlie darted toward her and grabbed her arms, and she whimpered in pain as he touched her bruises. He loosened his grip slightly.

"Don't do it" he said through clenched teeth. "Promise me Duffy you won't go to the police".

"I have to!" She wailed.

"No you don't".

"Yes I do, and I swear to you I won't even say your name. It's me they want, not you. You'll be OK".

"For Christ's sake Duffy I don't care about me! It's you that I'm worried about. If you go in there like this they _will_ arrest you for murder, because you seem so convinced that you did it".

"But I did!"

The determination in her voice frightened him. He could just imagine that given an unsympathetic judge, and there were plenty of them around, they'd have her locked up for first degree murder before you could shout 'objection'.

"You fought back in self defence, that's not murder. It isn't." 

She didn't look convinced. As far as Duffy was concerned she'd violently killed someone, regardless of the circumstances. She knew that she wouldn't be able to cope with the guilt of that, but her guilt was compounded by the knowledge that she could be responsible for destroying Charlie's life as well as her own. There was only one way to even begin to put things right.

"I know you're only trying to protect me, but I can't live with the knowledge of what I've done hanging over me."

"Of course I'm trying to protect you, I love you".

"You love me?" She repeated, all other thoughts melting away as she contemplated the implications of his words; hoping against hope that he meant it the way she wanted him to, but not daring to believe it until she'd had it confirmed.

He paused. Had he really just admitted that he loved her? He knew he'd said the words to her before, but he'd always qualified them by adding 'as a mate' or something similar into the mix. She was still waiting for an answer, and he wondered if he'd be able to backtrack somehow before he completely ruined their relationship. Surely she didn't need his feelings complicating matters…

Taking his pause as proof that she had misunderstood, she tried to shrug off his words. "Just as friends right?" she said, but couldn't keep the note of disappointment from her voice.

A note he detected with some surprise.

"No. Not just as friends, not anymore; not for a while actually" he admitted, reaching up and stroking her cheek. "I really do love you".

She pulled herself closer to him, one hand snaking around his waist, whilst the other reached the back of his head and drew his mouth toward her own. Their lips met nervously, trying out the unfamiliar territory with soft butterfly kisses before their confidence grew enough to explore deeper. 

His hands, which had been clasped around her waist moved slowly up her back, hugging her close with increasing passion until she pulled away sharply from him. He'd touched one of the sensitive bruises the were scattered across her back, not only hurting her, but breaking the mood and causing her to remember just what was going on.

"Duffy? What's the matter? I thought this was what you wanted…"

"It is" she interrupted him, "It's just the timing Charlie. I have to go."

Charlie sighed, feeling like he was on the losing side of this argument, "Please…?"

Duffy gazed into his pale eyes as they begged to her to reconsider her plan. She hated disagreeing with him at the best of times but when he was trying to talk her out of something she didn't like the thought of anyway it was harder than ever. She wished she could give in and believe his promise that he'd sort it out somehow, but she couldn't. She couldn't simply hide away and leave it all to him. She prayed he'd understand that one day.

"Won't you at least wait until morning?"

Her determination faltered. Perhaps he had a point about her state of mind, it wouldn't hurt to get her story clear in her head first. Besides, a few more hours wouldn't make much difference in the grand scheme of things, and although she didn't want to presume what he might be suggesting, she wasn't about to turn down a night with him. 

"OK", she nodded slowly, "just 'til morning though".

He allowed himself a long blink of relief and a deep breath as she placed the palm of her hand on his chest, and he wondered if she could tell how fast his heart was beating. He didn't know how to express his feelings to her, everything seemed to be marred by the sword of Damocles hanging over them. He'd never felt quite so awkward with someone he loved so much before.

"I think it's the right decision, after all..."

She placed a finger against his lips to silence him, "I said I'll wait until morning Charlie, can we try to put aside until then?"

As she ran the back of her fingers across the first signs of stubble on his face, it suddenly occurred to him what she was suggesting. "Oh… well, I suppose we could try…" He kissed her again, took her hand, and led her willingly upstairs.

The bedroom was pitch black, its curtains still closed from the morning and, after colliding with the chest of drawers and causing Duffy to let slip the first proper laugh she'd laughed in days, Charlie switched on the bedside lamp. Suddenly the room was bathed in a warm glow, softening the features of the world-wearied nurse as he stood nervously by his bed.

She stood in front of him, reaching forward to unbutton his shirt. He stretched out his own hands to remove the shirt she'd borrowed from him earlier, and brushed her long hair back behind her shoulders as the garment fell to the ground. Even in the dim light, he could see the dark patches of bruising across her chest and the tops of her arms and without conscious thought his brain clicked into medic mode.

Noticing the look on his face as she became his patient instead of his lover, she wrapped her arms across her bare breasts. "It's not as bad as it looks, just a few bruises".

He didn't answer, instead he turned on the main overhead light. Browns, yellows, and greens scattered her body, and when he examined her back he discovered a few more vivid colours, interspersed with small cuts and grazes.

"You didn't tell me how badly he hurt you. I mean, I thought… I don't know what I thought but, Christ, Duffy, I should have got you seen by a doctor."

She turned to face him, "Its not that bad. I am a nurse, don't you think I would know? It doesn't make any difference to us, does it?"

"I'm scared to touch you in case I hurt you".

"You won't".

"Maybe I should just sleep downstairs again" he suggested downheartedly.

"Stay. Please. If this is going to be my last night as a free woman, I want to spend it with you".

He didn't need asking twice, and very gently took her in his arms once more.

~*~

Charlie lay on his back with Duffy asleep, pressed against his side. Their attempt at lovemaking had faltered on account of her injuries and his reluctance to hurt her anymore than she was already. It had left them both in state of some frustration, although it wasn't that which kept Charlie awake until the small hours of the morning.

When he thought of what had happened to her, or worse still what might have happened if it wasn't for her quick thinking, it made his blood boil. And now she intended to hand herself over, as though she was the criminal? It was wrong, in all senses of the word. Why couldn't he make her see that? All those years of arguing with the top brass at the hospital and Duffy was still one of the most stubborn people he'd ever met.

There had to be some way around the situation, something practical he could do to help. After all that was what he was good at, wasn't it? Finding solutions to impossible problems - he'd kept an Accident and Emergency department running with only two doctors and a handful of nurses during a 'flu epidemic, why couldn't he find a way through this?

There had to be something, but short of taking the blame himself, what could he do? He looked down at her sleeping form as she nuzzled in closer to him. He couldn't imagine her in prison, and even if it didn't come to that she'd definitely get suspended from work for the duration; how would she support her children through that?

A plan, albeit fuzzy and frightening, started to form in the back of his mind. What if he did take the blame? What if he told the police that he did it? He could certainly make it sound believable, if he _had_ found Philip after what he'd tried to do he would have wrung his neck, or castrated him, or both - slowly. Of course, she'd never let him hand himself in. He'd have to go before she woke up, not to mention before he wimped out. But it would save her. It would screw him; but it would save her. It would mean a lot of lying, and breaking every principle that he held dear, but if anyone was worth it, Duffy was.

End of Part Four


	5. Part Five - The End

Repercussions

Part Five

The sun had not long been up over Holby as Charlie sat in his car staring at the local police station and drumming his fingers nervously against the steering wheel. To say that extricating himself from Duffy's warm embrace had been difficult was the understatement of the year. It was possibly the hardest thing he'd ever had to do; coming in slightly behind leaving Louis with Baz in Canada, and slightly in front of admitting to Jan that his heart was already taken.

He was sorely tempted to turn around and slide back into bed with Duffy. Keep up the pretence that everything would turn out fine in the end, but what she'd said was true, they couldn't carry on as normal with this hanging over them. He took a deep breath to steady his nerves and wished he'd taken the opportunity to ingest some Dutch courage before leaving the house. Of course, knowing his luck, he would probably have been stopped and breathalysed on his way to the station.

Painstakingly slowly, Charlie inched his way to the station doors, muttering under his breath a prayer that the next hours wouldn't go as badly as he feared.

~*~

Duffy knew before she had even opened her eyes that she was alone in the bed. What she didn't know was why. Memories of the last day or so surged through her mind, making her dizzy with panic, and although she knew realistically that she was safe; with Charlie unaccountably gone from her side, she was petrified.

Stiffly, she sat up, hugging the duvet around her for warmth and protection, and noticed an envelope propped up by the bedside lamp on Charlie's side of the bed. She snatched at it, tearing the thin paper viciously and almost ripping the contents as she wrenched it out.

Her subconscious had already decided that it couldn't be good news, and she had trouble reading the familiar handwriting as her own hands trembled constantly as she held it.

__

Dearest Duffy, 

As you lie sleeping, I've thought a lot about our disagreement last night. I still hold to everything I said, that for you to go to the police and hand yourself over as though you were a murderer would do no one any good. You don't deserve to be punished for what happened, it was an accident of the worst kind. It wasn't your fault. 

However I have come to realise that what you said about not being able to carry on as normal now that we know of Philip's death is also true. The police will indeed continue to search for the culprit, and you shouldn't have to live in fear of what will happen to you and to your children. 

So the police will get their culprit. As you read this, I will no doubt be talking to an officer at the station. As far as they, and the rest of the world, are concerned you are the innocent party in all this, and I regrettably attacked Philip on your behalf. If the police come to question you that is what you MUST say. I came round to visit you, saw that bastard forcing himself on you and lashed out.

I know what I'm doing Duffy, I have it all worked out, and you have to trust me on this one. I intend to tell the police the truth about how Philip walked away afterwards and that neither of us has seen anything of him since. I do not intend to go to prison, so don't worry about me on that account.

I'm not sure when the next time I see you will be but remember that I love you and we'll be together soon.

All my love Charlie xxx

PS I think you should destroy this letter just in case. 

As she reached the end of the letter, she could feel her heart implode with anguish. Her feelings were torn between loving him all the more for the sacrifice he was willing to make, and hating him for doing something so bloody stupid.

Still clutching the letter, she jumped from the bed, pulling on Charlie's robe as she did so, and hurtled down the stairs screaming his name. When it swiftly became clear that he'd already left, she opened the front door and peered down the street, but, except for a startled postman, she saw no one. It was already too late.

~*~

"How can I help you?" The desk officer, a wiry young constable with straw coloured hair and green eyes, greeted Charlie with the bored tone of someone forced to listed to one too many old women talking about their lost cat. 

"I'm, er," He took a deep breath and counted to three in his head to calm him self. He tried to convince himself of everything that he'd written in his note to Duffy; that he had every intention of leaving the station a free man and clearing both their names. However, he'd read enough newspaper articles about people falsely accused of all sorts to hold much store in his own words. 

"Yes sir?" The Constable prompted.

"I would like to speak to the officer in charge of the Philip Brockly case please." The Constable raised an eyebrow, his attention now engaged.

"That would be DI Watkins. May I ask why you wish to see him?"

"I have some information". Charlie replied carefully, his guard well and truly up.

"May I take your name then sir?"

"Fairhead, Charlie Fairhead".

"Right Mr Fairhead, if you'd like to take a seat the Detective Inspector will be with you shortly".

Charlie moved away from the desk, though remaining under the watchful gaze of the Constable, and slumped into one of the moulded plastic chairs.

It took a good few minutes for DI Watkins to appear in the reception area, but it felt like far too short a time. The burly officer, in a smart suit that gave him the air of a night club bouncer, towered menacingly over Charlie, although the intimidation factor was vastly exaggerated by Charlie's own feelings on the matter. 

"Mr Fairhead? I'm Detective Inspector Daniel Watkins, Constable Barclay informs me that you have some information regarding the death of Mr Brockly?" Charlie stood up and nodded silently, "Right then, if you'd follow me we'll go somewhere a bit more private".

As he'd been instructed, Charlie followed the DI through a heavy wooden door and down a short corridor to an empty interview room. The walls were of a bluish hue, yellowed by years of tobacco smoke, and covered with all the latest posters on crime prevention and racial tolerance. In the centre of the room were four chairs set around a simple table, and the whole place was illuminated by grey light from a window that ran high along the wall so people from the street couldn't look in.

Charlie sat on one side of the table and Watkins sat on the other, his large fingers clasped together in front of him.

"So, what is it you wanted to talk to me about?"

"Um, well, I, er…" He could feel beads of sweat forming on his forehead, and cursed himself for getting so worked up: looking guilty would hardly help matters.

Watkins leant forward "Are you a friend, or a relative, of the deceased?" 

"No. I don't know him. Well, I mean, I met him, once. Before he died. Obviously". Charlie managed a nervous laugh and immediately wished he hadn't. Watkins was staring at him, one eyebrow raised in a perfect arc.

"A-ha. But you have information about his death?"

"Yes. I hit him". He hadn't expected the words to flow quite so easily from his lips, lying had never exactly been his forte, but he wanted the torture over, and soon. 

"I see". Watkins commented, his eyes glistening with undeserved triumph. "And when was this?"

"The night before last, I'm not sure of the time exactly…"

"And what vehicle were you driving?"

"Huh?" Charlie grunted, confused, "I have a blue Nissan, why?"

"Light blue, dark blue, royal…?"

"Dark. Look, what's my car got to do with anything?"

The two men's eyes locked across the bare table. Each realised that somewhere along the way they had started talking at cross-purposes but neither having the slightest idea why. Watkins leant back in his chair, causing the plastic to creak under the strain.

"In a 'hit and run' investigation, the vehicle is of the utmost significance Mr Fairhead".

Charlie leaned further in across the desk. "What?"

"Mr Brockly died as the result of injuries sustained by a high speed impact with a car or other motor vehicle". 

Exhaling a long deep breath he hadn't consciously been holding, Charlie felt a nervous smile begin to twitch at the corner of his mouth. Could it really be that after all that had happened, after Duffy had hit him, after Charlie had cleaned away the evidence, after all of their combined fretting, Brockly had managed to get himself run over in an unrelated incident? Shock and relief caused Charlie to lose his bearings in the conversation, and he sat quietly shaking his head in a stupor.

"Mr Fairhead? You were saying that you were in the vehicle that hit Mr Brockly…?"

Snapping out of his daze Charlie replied as forcefully as he could without shouting. "No. No I wasn't". 

"We have forensic experts examining flecks of paint taken from Mr Brockly's clothing as we speak, when we have the results we can set about trying to match them to a vehicle. It will be easy enough for us to confirm whether it was your car".

"I didn't hit him. You misunderstood…"

Watkins sighed. So much for an easy admission of guilt. "Mr Fairhead, when I asked you earlier, you admitted to hitting him. Are you know saying that that isn't the case?"

"No! Yes! I mean, I didn't hit him with my car, I _hit_ him." He balled his hands into fists and simulated a rather pathetic boxing match.

"You were in a brawl with Mr Brockly? Is that it?" Watkins said slowly, in an attempt to clarify the situation. 

For want of any better explanation, Charlie nodded in agreement.

"When, and where was this?"

"About, I don't know, nine-ish? It was at a friend of mine's on Clarence Road".

Charlie felt he could see the information being churned around in Watkins' mind, as the detective's lips pressed into a fine line.

"And what kind of state was Mr Brockly in when you last saw him?"

"Alive!" He blurted out before regaining his composure, "He, er, had a head wound and a few other bruises".

"A head wound? What sort?"

Charlie's mind raced for a suitable explanation "He fell and banged it on something. I'm not sure what".

Watkins added the information to his store. The medics he'd spoken to at St Thomas's had mentioned a head wound, but dismissed it as irrelevant compared to the massive blunt trauma to the abdomen sustained during the contact with the car.

"This fight, there wouldn't happen to be a woman involved, would there? This friend you've mentioned perhaps?"

"Sorry?" Charlie questioned, still unwilling to bring Duffy into the proceedings.

"Mr Brockly had something of a reputation as a womaniser. Rumour has it that he could have any woman he set his sights on. So I'm wondering if this fight was as a result of him trying it on with your girlfriend…"

Watkins hardly needed Charlie to answer to confirm his suspicion. It was clear that the man sat opposite him in that interview room was no brutal attacker. He would have needed a damn good reason to fight, and in the detective's experience, women were high up on the list of men's reasons to do stupid things.

"She's not…" Charlie started, before remembering just what had happened only a few hours ago, "Well, she kind of is my girlfriend. But he wasn't just trying it on, he was hurting her…"

"I see. I think maybe your girlfriend, miss…?"

"Lisa Duffin"

"Miss Duffin should come in and make a statement, help to round things off and create a fuller picture of what happened that night. I don't think there's any rush though, whenever she has some spare time. And I would also like to get a formal statement from you too, if you don't mind".

"No, I don't" Charlie responded warily, still conscious of their need to get their stories straight. Maybe he hadn't needed to lie, but he had done so anyway. "But I should really be at work now, could I come back later?"

"I don't see why not, Mr Fairhead. Well, if you don't have any information about the actual accident…"

"No. That's all I know, I just wanted to put things straight. But, if you don't mind me asking, what exactly happened to Mr Brockly?"

"We're still pulling together the evidence, but best guess, some drunk driver mowed into him. He was found lying unconscious in Baxter Street by a resident. That's about two streets away from your girlfriend's house I believe; towards the main road". Charlie nodded dumbly, unsure exactly what it meant, but knowing that it put Duffy and himself in the clear. "I'll take you back through to the entrance…"

Watkins pushed through the door, holding it open for Charlie to follow him. As the nurse entered the reception area, he saw a very familiar figure sitting solemnly on one of the seats opposite the desk.

"Duffy!?" He was surprised to see her there, wearing her old black dress covered with one of his shirts and a long overcoat.

She looked up on hearing his voice and launched herself toward him, narrowly avoiding knocking Watkins to the floor in the process. He scooped her into his arms, hugging her tightly. Even when the accepted period of hugging had expired he continued to hold her, whispering softly into her ear "Everything's fine Duffy love, I'll explain outside".

Pulling away a tiny amount so that she could look him in the eyes, and from there divine if he was telling the truth, she whispered in an equally soft voice "They didn't arrest you?"

"No". He kissed her cheek, and although she didn't understand, she trusted him enough to say no more. They reluctantly pulled apart from each other as Watkins stepped forward to address Duffy.

"Miss Lisa Duffin, I presume?"

Duffy glanced cautiously at Charlie, who nodded with the sort of nonchalant confidence that had been so lacking in him of late.

"Yes?"

"Mr Fairhead has explained to us what happened the night before last with regard to Mr Brockly, and I've suggested that you and he come by the station in the next couple of days to make a statement. If that's all right?"

Again, she glanced at Charlie as she replied a tentative "OK". 

"Good day then, Mr Fairhead, Miss Duffin". Watkins nodded politely. The desk officer, who had been discussing something over the phone, suddenly turned his attention to the detective, indicating that the call was for him. "If you'll excuse me, I have to take this…" 

Charlie and Duffy responded with a slightly forced smile and a nod, before Duffy practically dragged Charlie outside. 

Meanwhile, Watkins's eyebrow arched again at the new information he was receiving. "Maroon you say. Can you trace the paint sample to a specific make? … Shame, well, keep trying, something might turn up … We can but hope, but in the meantime I'll spread the word that we're looking for a maroon vehicle in the Brockly case".

~*~

As soon as they were out of view of the main entrance Duffy turned to Charlie and in one swift movement manoeuvred herself in front of him and started to pummel on his chest with her fists.

"What the hell did you think you were doing in there Charlie?!"

Charlie did his best to defend himself without fighting back, and nearly tripped over his own feet as tried to get away from her. "Hey, Duffy, leave it out!"

"Leave it out!" she repeated indignantly, though ceased her advance on him "Do you have any idea of what's been going through my mind this morning? Do you?"

"Some". He replied wearily, the strain of the last two days very much apparent in his expression. Duffy softened toward him, hoping he realised her outburst came from her own stress. 

"Don't ever leave me asleep and wander off like that again".

"I won't" he said, unable to resist a smile at the thought he'd occasion to leave her in bed again. He risked a step closer to her and she threaded her arm around his.

"So what happened in there then? I thought they'd question you for hours, if not arrest you…"

"It wasn't you who killed him Duffy. So there wasn't much I could say. It seems that after he left your place he only made it two streets away before getting hit by a car. The police reckon it was some drunk driver who didn't want to be caught over the limit, but whoever it was it has nothing to do with us".

"I still hit him".

"You did what you had to do. And there's no saying how bad that injury was. The point is it's all over now".

She stared him directly in the eyes and replied meaningfully, "Maybe it's not _all_ over".

For a split second he questioned what she meant, but as she pulled herself nearer to him, he realised what she was referring too. Their lips met, and their minds began to block out the misery they'd gone through as the enjoyed the moment, locked in their own world. It was only as they opened their eyes and pulled away from each other that they let themselves think about real life again.

"So what happens now?" Duffy asked, still recovering her breath.

"I have no idea. I should really go to work…" a frown passed across his face at the thought of letting the department down. "And you should go and rescue your boys from your mum. They must be missing you".

"I know _I'm_ missing _them_. But that's not really what I meant, I meant about the enquiry…?"

"We'll have to give statements, I'll tell you what I said, so we don't contradict each other. It should be straight forward enough".

"And this mystery driver?"

"I'm not sure how much the police have to go on really. Sounded like all they know is the colour of the paint work. They'll probably never catch them".

"Still," Duffy said with a thoughtful sigh, "I wonder who it was…"

~*~

Across the other side of Holby in a run down garage, a grubby mechanic wiped his hands down his overalls and made his way across to his brother-in-law, temporarily his customer.

"Is it ready?"

"Yep, just finished. One ex-maroon taxi cab, complete with new front bumper. So John, you gonna tell me what you've been up to?" John felt his skin crawl when he thought about it. He could still hear the sickening crunch as the cab collided with the man's body. He could still see his victim's broken, bloodied frame lying on the tarmac; he hadn't even recognised him at first.

"You don't wanna know mate".

"You hit someone. I'm not stupid, I know blood when I see it. What I don't know is why my sister's law abiding husband would come to me for a re-spray rather than going to the filth." 

John wrung his hands together nervously. "I'd lose my licence, my livelihood, my house. I can't risk that".

"Look, I'm not judging you. I woulda done the same thing".

John grunted in response. He wasn't so sure that was true, as his brother-in-law wouldn't have been in that situation. The only reason John had got into that situation was because of a sudden pang of guilt. His brother-in-law didn't often feel guilt. His brother-in-law wouldn't have realised, as he drove back to the main road, that by driving away quietly, fifty pound note safely in his pocket, he was condemning that poor woman to God knows what.

He'd seen it with his own eyes, the menace with which that Brockly man had held that woman. He'd seen the fear that her eyes had shown, too. However, he'd long ago promised himself that whatever went on between passengers in his cab was none of his business. He'd seen too many of his mates end up on the wrong side of a right hook, just because they'd interfered.

This was different though. There was something so calculatedly evil about the way Brockly had bribed him to leave, and the sound of that woman screaming 'Bastard!' at him as he drove off would haunt him forever.

So he'd done what he thought was the best thing to do, he'd turned back. He decided he'd knock at her door and make sure she was all right before he left. Except he never got that far; in his rush to help he'd collided with Brockly, and then he'd panicked.

"There's the keys then mate. You can settle up with me later".

"Great. Thanks" John replied, subdued.

"Hey, d'you know what happened to guy you hit?"

John nodded, feeling the bile rise in his throat. "Yeah, I know" he answered softly, but he realised that he'd never know what had happened to that woman. 

The End


End file.
